Happiness is complicated
by clockworkmooon
Summary: This is the worst birthday Alfred ever had and he always loved his anniversaries , and with every hour it's getting only worse and worse. USUK.


_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders._

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little col..-_

"Come on, what's with that car" Alfred laughed, not really amused. It's been two hours since he tried to do something with his Hyundai getting too _gharr_when he starts the engine. He tried calling the service, of course he did. He might be few hundred years old, but he has better stuff to do than fixing the engines now, doesn't he. Not that he doesn't like it, no, sometimes that's kind of relaxing, listen to some _The Rolling Stones, _shut in his garage and disappear for few hours. But it's so absolutely not relaxing when he should've been hitting the road for more than two hours ago now, riding to New York to attend his birthday party. Especially when all people were already there. He wasn't really concerned about people getting nervous, or rather- furious. He just really likes that part when people were giving him gifts with smiles on their faces and everyone pretended like the whole world was problemless, like everyone loved each other and none was trying to weaken the others. Yeah, that part was pretty much fun. Not pleasant or nice, just fun.

It was already 6 PM and he really should look for some freaking help if he wanted to be home before the fireworks.

He didn't know how he ended in some kind of lonesome Philadelphia suburbs. Or he did know it. He visited his old friend Sarah, girl he really liked years ago, girl he dated for some time. Now she was already eighty years old, but her happy eyes remained the same. She always cheered up when he was around, and he always felt guilty after he told her that she should find someone who's real. Because, for God's sake, any girl should date _a country._ It was just horrible, that they couldn't have anyone for them. Humans are too fragile, they live for such a short period of time. He remembers all of his best people, not only the famous ones, but those he worked in a refinery with, those he met while building and developing all of his cities- the architects and the workers of all centuries and race. Only that when they get to know who he was, even if he doesn't tell them too often, it's only sometimes, like with Sarah, but he knows that they have to think of themselves as a mere blip in time for him. But they aren't, not now, not ever. He really remembers.

And that might be even worse, sometimes. Because he hates how Sarah's moves are now so slow and she can't hear him sometimes. She has to wear these huge glasses 'cause she has problems when she doesn't. He still loves her, but it's just horrible to watch her live only to die, and to love and cry and be happy and miserable in the meantime. And to know that he can't be with her or any other human. For that matter he can't be with others, too. Country having a relationship with a country? It's hard to love someone and plot against them because of the actual politics. It's probably hard to be with someone and to leave them, and later to meet them during the world conferences. It's hard to see them smiling at someone else. To never forget, because they live basically forever. To pretend all the time. And they couldn't just move on, like most of the humans could. He knows that much.

The Beatles' song faded some time ago, now was time for Chris Martin's voice singing about Saint Peter not calling his name, what was with all those British songs on the radio today by the way? when Alfred decided that it's the highest time to look around and think of any way to get the hell out of here. He went out of the deserted shed he dragged his car into, after the thing has gone crazy and broken. Air was so dense that one could cut it with a knife. And he suddenly remembered the place.

_Boy winked at Alfred and passed him an old paper with a grin. The title said The New-England Courant._

_"D'ya know what's that?'" he asked, watching as Alfred flipped through it. America looked at him and grinned back._

_"Holy shit, it's _that_ paper"_

_He read it once, it was the very first truly independent newspaper in the colonies, after all. A real nuisance for some people in England, too, truth to be told. He remembered letters from Silence Dogood, he laughed at them few times. He told Benjamin that lot of his friends loved reading the letters, and they were wondering why they stopped printing them. Did the widow remarried and had a terrible husband?_

_"Well, actually I just left England" Benjamin shrugged and looked at Alfred, curious for his reaction. America laughed, loudly._

_"Don't tell me you were the one to write 'em!"_

_"Yeah, my brother couldn't find out for a long time, too. But in the end he did, so I had to flee, y'know" _

_"Older brothers are sometimes hell of a problem, especially when they think they know better than you, and they don't" Alfred smiled and sat on a grass. It was warm evening, and he was happy that he met this guy. Benjamin Franklin was his name? he couldn't tell. The guy sighed and sat on a log. They were far away from the city Alfred was so proud of. He really liked Philadelphia, he felt like this city was meant to be quite important. People there were talking about democracy more and more, some of them in whispers, but they did. Benjamin turned his head to check if the horses were still where they left them. Black one, Alfred's, was eating the clovers. The other one was nervous, shaking his head all the time._

_"Listen, what do you think of the books?" Benjamin asked in a quiet voice. Alfred raised an eyebrow._

_"Well... they have paper pages and printed words?"_

_Benjamin looked confused, like he couldn't decide whether it was a joke or not. America tapped him on the shoulder._

_"I think you ask me what do I think of your plan to create a place where you can read books or borrow them so lot of people could read without buying this expensive crap?"_

_Benjamin looked puzzled. _

_"Well, kind of. I was more interested in your collection and if you could borrow me some, but I must admit that the idea is tempting. But it's more of a dream than actual plan.'"_

_"I think it's okay to try this one. I mean, that'd be really great, if people could just borrow books, right? I'm not really a reading person, thick books sometimes bore me, but the idea is cool."_

_Young Franklin's face lightened a little. _

_"Yeah, my lads from the Junto has the same opinion, well, except for that part where you say that books are boring'" Alfred tried not to smile at his accent. When the guy get excited, he started to speak in English accent. "Hey, don't you want to come to one of our meetings?" he suddenly asked. Alfred shrugged his shoulders._

_"Why not, I could come by the other day" he got up and went to his horse.'"And I have to say that you should really try and stay with that idea of borrowing books. It could really develop the city'"he said as a farewell, Benjamin stood there, focused, new ideas forming in his head. Then he smiled at Alfred and waved goodbye,_

Alfred wondered if it was the same log he and Benjamin Franklin sat on. But that wasn't possible, right? Everything changed from that day, some for better, some for worse. He likes changes. Nothing could remain the same, after all.

America memorized that after four years, Benjamin actually founded the library and what's more, he started printing his own paper. And as Alfred recalled, he was always plainly modest and nothing really changed him, he was his true friend, friend with a great mind. And as everyone he had his problems. One day Alfred visited him and his family. He remembered how Benjamin was furious over his own child, William, declaring the loyalty to the crown, and denying all the thing his father fought for. And how Benjamin felt humiliated that his own boy shouted during the dinner that colonies didn't deserve to be independent.

He sat down on the said log and looked around, now more carefully. The landscape was similar to the one he remembered after one of the last of the battles in the Revolutionary War. It was good that things really change. Even now he could feel this awful weight inside his chest as he thought of how he couldn't be fully happy after the Declaration of Independence. He was happy for his people, he couldn't be more proud of Benjamin or Thomas, but some part of himself knew that for him, for Alfred F Jones, for Alfred the person, not the soldier, not the United States of America, for him personally it was a little like a defeat. Especially when for the next one hundred and five years England refused to visit him in person, what made Alfred change his mood from little sad to angry and kind of defeated in the end. He never wished to change the past, he only wished he could made something so Arthur wouldn't be like that. So he won't be so displeased and huffy all the time, so he won't scowl so often.

But, he has to admit, it was better that way. Because when he was younger, after first phase of being absolutely in a childlish way in love with this little, so called, older brother he had, after hot noons and colder nights of swearing to himself that he won't ever disappoint Arthur, that he has to be brave and good for him, he get annoyed. He didn't want to be treated like Arthur treated him. He always wanted to state his own opinions, he was never the one to be ruled. How Arthur wanted to have power over someone who had been friends with a freaking bison? And to what, rule someone from his comfy chair, with a cup of tea in his hand?

And he was annoyed about all of it. And even if it hurts that he betrayed that little living he was once, that he broke his own promise, it was a good thing. He could live with that, because he doesn't hate Arthur now. And he knows that if he hadn't started the whole thing, if his people hadn't been so stubborn and brave, he would've hated him for years. And he knew that he had to break Arthur's heart. But in the end, he would finally do it anyway, and he wouldn't forgive himself nor Arthur if he rebelled later. It just had to be that way. Now there's no time for what ifs, even if Alfred loved to think about the past. And it wasn't about him. The Revolutionary Was was about his people and their right to feel independent and happy. Happiness always costs a lot, and if the price was betraying the boy he was, it was fair enough.

The cell-phone vibrated in his pocket and he realized it was getting late. The screen said that England was calling. Why the hell Arthur was calling him? If it was about the party, his boss would call (and to be honest, he already did, and he wasn't happy at all that Alfred was sitting inside some old shed in the middle of nowhere, trying to repair his car, and why the fuck he was driving car and not flying a plane). He stared at the screen thinking of why would Arthur call him today, since he made it quite obvious that he won't wish him anything nice, not on that day. In the end, until Alfred answered the phone, Arthur let it be.

Well, the best thing to do in such situation was to phone Sarah. She couldn't pick him up, of course, but her granddaughter was home, and even if she didn't like him (Sarah explained that her husband was always jealous of Alfred and so whole family was always angry at that weid stranger Sarah always talks about, and Alfred kind of regretted then that he wasted that poor girl's life in some way) maybe if Sarah asked her, she might help him and drop him off on an airport.

When after two hours he ended up under Sarah's door again, he didn't know what to say. Because, wasn't that girl obligated to help him? And leaving him here was not really helpful, as it was far away to go to the airport. Even if he ran, it was so little time.

Sarah opened the door and let him in, smiling all the time.

"Sorry for Alice, but she has to pick her brother up from the kindergarden"

Alfred knitted his eyebrows.

"Like what? I think kindergardens are closed on my birthday"

Sarah gasped and looked terrified. And yet she wasn't panicking at all, just surprised that her granddaughter would lie. One look at her face, into her eyes and Alfred could tell why he loved her.

"I absolutely forgot that it's your birthday today, Alfred! It's been so many years since you visited me on 4th July, last time when my husband was still alive."

"Yeah, and you have to say it wasn't the most perfect visit in our history" he smiled. Her husband was really mad, and he screamed a lot, even if whole visit was in his presence and they weren't flirting, for fuck's sake, Alfred isn't a freaking teenager, he has few hundreds years, and what's important, he has common sense and he would not try to flirt with a married woman. And he kind of liked Bob, her husband, well, until he waved a loaded gun in front of Alfred's face. It's not really nice when people try to shoot you when you want to eat a damn steak.

Sarah sighed and sat on the chair by the table. She patted chair next to her and Alfred accepted the invitation. They were on a wooden porch and Alfred knew this place, they kissed there for the first time. Such a old house it was. It was getting dark, sky all orange and red, reminding him that he's so late. He looked at the grapevine rambling on the wall.

"I had a great life" Sarah confessed, looking at him with a worry. "You know you just made it better, don't you? I wasn't miserable because of knowing you. I know you think you've made a mistake by letting me around you so closely, but I don't regret it. I'm so happy I knew you."

Alfred looked at her and froze. How's that she always knew what he thought and how he felt? It was almost creepy sometimes, that he was so naked in front of her.

"Well, why do you use the past tense? You still know me, you'll always do."

She looked at him, evening shadows only deepening her wrinkles. She was even more fragile than when she was as a young girl, he thought. But her mind was strong as always, and her eyes so wise and clever, and her mind sharp. He loved her so much. And now the answer was hanging in the air, cruel and obvious. She didn't need to tell him that, he knew by her look. _I'm not going to live forever._

Alfred touched her cheek with his _I'm so sorry _look. He was more than sorry that he couldn't do anything to help her.

"Oh love, you don't need to be sorry. That's just the natural thing, you know. Just promise me you won't forget to clean my gravestone sometimes. You know how much I hate mess around mess." she smiled with a little tear in her eye. Alfred leaned over the table and hugged her as gently as he could, so she will feel it but not to break any of her weak bones. He kissed the top of her head, then her eyelids. He didn't have to say any consolation. Sarah knew he cared. She stroked his cheek with a small smile.

"Hey, would you sing me something?" he asked out of nowhere. Sarah nodded her head and started to hum something, which turned out to be _Hey Jude_. Alfred took her hand in his and crouched by her legs, to look at her face closer. She always had a great voice, and even if now it was weaker, throat not the same as when she was younger, she still could sing lovely. They used to sit together and she would sing him songs, and they were always full of her emotions and her thoughts. When he listened to them earlier on the radio they didn't sound the same as when she sung them. Now _Hey Jude _appeared to be a different song, too. It was a promise and request at once, and it was full of hope for his better life, and it was peaceful, and it was just all like _Sarah_.

When she finished singing, he stared into her eyes for few minutes. It was always great that they could talk without words, and that she always seemed to understand. Sarah ruffled his hair and closed her eyes.

"I'm really happy right know, you know that?" she looked at him through the lashes. "I just want you to be happy, too. I was always content of my life. I had wonderful children and a great husband. And I always had you. In case we won't see each other again-"

"But we _will_." Alfred interrupter her, slightly sad and angry. Why does everyone think that he just waits until he could break their hearts? He visits Sarah always when she needs him to.

"In case we don't-" she continued, her face not smiling anymore, now more serious and demanding "you need to promise me you will finally do something about Arthur."

Alfred sighed. She knew everything, he told her about England and his character and how he loved and still loves, somehow, he told her all of that because she already knew, but he wanted her to know all the details.

"You need to promise me that. Because even your existence one day will come to an end, you know, and you have to be happy when that day will come."

Alfred tried to not be worried about the thought of United States falling apart, and he squeezed her hand instead.

"Sure thing one day I will disappear" he smiled, and the exact moment he knew it wasn't the best thing to say. Sarah looked even more worried than moment ago.

"Alfred, you just deserve to be happy. It's not always about the bigger picture and happiness of all of the people, because the society will never be entirely happy."

He shook his head. It's not like that, they have to sacrifice themselves, that's why they are for. For the people.

"I don't say you don't need to worry about them, you know. It's just... you could sometimes think about yourself, too."

Sometimes he wondered why he couldn't just marry that woman. But even if he loved her absolutely, he knew someone who he loved even more, even if said person persistently tried to keep him out of his life, even if that person failed hardly to do so with all the dinner invitations and Alfred's random visits, with all that dragging miserable person out of the pubs, where said person tried to drink himself to death. He knew that Arthur forgave him years ago, but was too much of a coward to tried and love him again, or to admit that he does. And there was nothing Alfred could do, then, if Arthur couldn't admit such a thing.

Sarah knew all of this, and yet she ask him of such thing. He kissed her forehead again.

"Okay, I promise I will eventually be more egoistic, if it's something you think my character lacks of." she laughed, and he proposed he would do some coffee for them. She followed him with her eyes and he smiled at her over the shoulder.

Coffee took him good few minutes to make, especially when he knew Sarah loved her coffee with unhealthy amounts of sugar and milk and coffee mate. He hummed something cheerful and breathe in the smell of coffee. He could feel cool breeze from the outside, and when he get out of the house, he noticed Sarah must fallen asleep. He placed two mugs on the wobbling table and looked at Sarah's face.

He just felt as coffee splits all over the table as he rushed to her chair, trying to give futile artificial respiration. He called the ambulance and in a empty voice he asked for the arrival.

Alfred burried his face in Sarah's hair and sobbed twice.

He couldn't force himself to let her out of his arms when the ambulance came, even when Alice shouted at him with tears in her eyes.

Finally he got to the airport around late 9 PM. Boss gave him permission so he could fly back home on his own, but as he looked at his face in the mirror at the airport and saw reflection all but blurred, he decided to ask for some assistance. The other pilot was understanding enough to let him sleep a while as he noticed how wretched Alfred looked.

It wasn't long enough, though, for Alfred to get some healthy amount of sleep. To be honest he thought that he had just closed his eyes and now after few seconds he had to get out of the plane. It landed at his private airport, place where he began mostly all of his flights.

He took a deep breath when he looked at his house. Flashing colors and loud music, and people dancing, standing and walking inside and outside of the mansion. People screaming and laughing. It was the last place he wanted to be right now. It was the first time he just wanted to push the fast-forward button and make everything go away.

But he couldn't, he was fucking United States of America, and he had his anniversary today.

So he did what he does the best- he put on a wide fake smile on his face and entered the house.

First hour was a stark madness. Everyone wanted to know where he's been, why the bloody hell he was so irresponsible, but oh it's so normal for a brat like him, why, oh Mon Dieu, did 'e invite them at 5 PM if 'e couldn't be the proper 'ost and he was absent and a whole stream of questions. He just laughed and smiled at everyone, explaining his car had been broken so he couldn't make it. People shook their heads, murmuring that they should expect it all along.

He didn't know how and when, it seemed like few seconds after he entered the house and now he was out, and world was explosion of noise and colors, it sounded like bombing and cannon and bombers, and whole universe was just a big noise. Everyone looked at the fireworks, amazed and so small. He bet, he knew they loved the show, everybody does. Such a stupid thing and people were left all but stunned and breathless. He enjoyed fireworks, too, sure thing he did. It was the best part of the evening, okay, maybe beside the gifts.

As he gazed at the people around, he wondered whether they were in love with humans also. If so, do they still make the same mistake? Is it a mistake, anyway? Last time, before Sarah, he promised he won't ever love any human in such way. But he just can't do it. Arthur would say he's just too young, he bet. Last time he said England he had been in love with a mortal, Arthur laughed that once he had loved human, but now he knows it shouldn't be that way. It just doesn't make sense to him.

But Arthur always lies. He lies that he doesn't care, he lies that he doesn't want Alfred around as much as he really does. So he must be lying about that one, too.

Speaking of the devil, where was Arthur? Was he drinking inside, denying himself that pleasure of watching the fireworks? Oh, but he hated the show. Well, frankly, he hated everything about that day. Sometimes Alfred thought that Arthur hated everything about everything, but it was just some days. Sometimes Alfred thought he thinks about Arthur too much. Francis was looking around, suddenly alarmed, and Alfred felt little anger inside that probably he wasn't the only one who thinks about Arthur too much. He wanted to get the hell out of here, to sit in silence on the porch and don't think about anything. Just to look at the sky. But he couldn't even go inside, he had to be there and pretend everything was so great. Every one of them had to practice that skill over years, because without pretending whole world would fall apart.

For the first time he could remember he was glad that the fucking fireworks finally ended. People dispersed into smaller groups, talking and laughing and drinking again, and he felt so tired. Voices everywhere, loud and stupid, and any other day he would be happy that they enjoyed the evening, that they forgot about his faux pas, that they drink and converse and everything seems normal for a while. That there are faces he knew and they smile and he doesn't have to convince them to anything, that he's great and they know it. Now he wants to be none and just fuck it all.

So he talks with everyone, he jokes about Matt's last birthday party, he asks Kiku of his new technologies and he even tries to annoy Francis by insinuating that their Californian wine tastes better to everyone than French tart ones. He does everything just to stop thinking how much he doesn't want to be there, to be who he is, because those thoughts are not welcomed, not today.

"Enjoying your party tonight, America?" he hears the shy question and he knows it's Lithuania. Nodding cheerfully, he pats Toris on the shoulder, but guy doesn't seem to be convinced. He just looks at Alfred for a longer moment and shakes his head in sad, not suiting him at all exasperation. Alfred grins in his wide, perfect white teeth way and he knows Toris won't buy it, but he does it anyway. After all, what Lithuania could do? Nothing, really, so both of them just keep on playing that well known pretend game, and everything looks the same and stupid and sad.

"I'm glad that everything goes according to plan, then" but his voice says he's highly concerned about Alfred. He raises his eyebrows and smiles a little. "Fireworks were amazing, as every year."

"I'm not sure what I should do next time to shock you all" Alfred laughs. "Seems like you've seen everything what I could do with 'em."

"Maybe try magic, like, you know, flying dragons or something like that."

"No, you won't have Gandalf party here" he doesn't mind that Toris seems surprised at that Tolkien reference. Everyone thinks he can't read, after all. Well, he couldn't get through the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but he watched the movie! "For such thing, you should go to Arthur, here I can do some hamburger magic, if any." Arthur would be delighted to do a circus show with his imaginary friends, but Alfred wasn't sure if anyone would enjoy it as much as England.

"Yes, I think I should ask him of it" Toris looked at his shoes and moved nervously. Well, that means Ivan was around, and Alfred didn't want to talk to the guy right now. But he did, anyway, as everything during tonight. He talked to Ivan about the fire in Moscow, and he really tried not to notice the weird commentary about the flames and no need for warming places now in the city and smaller villages. Ivan was used to mass murders on his own people, or he was just used to pretending as all of them, Alfred thought, so maybe it was just another way to perceive things. He hoped he wouldn't end up like that, not caring about his own people's life. It couldn't be easier, no way.

Finally people started to be too drunk to notice things, so he might just disappear in the house and start looking for Arthur. To annoy him a little and see him blush and huff might cheer him up just a bit. But mostly, he wanted to go and rest, but the party wasn't over yet. Arthur wasn't nowhere in the kitchen nor the living room and Alfred hoped England didn't go to the attic as he dumped all the relics there. But as he went to the first floor he noticed someone curled up by the balustrade of the stairs and he knew right now who the person was. He sighed at the thought that he won't talk to Arthur and instead he lifted him up and laid on the bed. Not only he can't speak with him, he won't be able to lie there, either, well, he can, but Arthur would make a fuss in the morning, that's for sure.

But he didn't leave the bedroom. He just stood there and stared at sleeping Arthur, at last until he realized how creepy it must've looked. It was just impossible not to look at him, really. His face was so soft and he looked peaceful, not lying to anyone just for that short period of time while sleeping.

First time when Arthur slept over at Alfred's, Alfred was fully aware. He didn't know him, and he wasn't used to others. He liked his bison friends and he liked to throw stones at mustangs so they would run around, but he didn't like people. He found them too complicated, even if he was such a small boy. And Arthur was so nice, he cooked him things, he told him about the sea and about his home and Englishmen and Alfred was fascinated. But he couldn't trust him, not really. There was something about Arthur, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And one day it came suddenly, and Alfred just wanted to protect Arthur from everything. Maybe it was the way Arthur looked at him, with such overwhelming love and joy or something else, it doesn't matter here. And even if Alfred knew he was small, he wanted to be a grown up, he wanted to impress Arthur and to protect him from the world. But he didn't notice that Arthur wanted to protect him, too, and Alfred wasn't the one to protect, not when he was growing up so quickly, when he was more powerful and had mind of his own.

As years passed by, things changed, everything changed, but that, maybe somehow sick need to protect Arthur remained the same. And Alfred thought that maybe he would be a little lost without that feeling.

Alfred was glad that Arthur finally, after so many years, started to act more...natural around him. He still had his stupid little wall of irritation and stubbornness and selfishness, but Alfred noticed more and more holes in that wall. And it was a good thing, it was out of the question. But anyway, Alfred lost his hope when it comes to him and Arthur. He knew that there was no way they could ever be the same as they were, and that Arthur won't trust him and love him as he did. But he wasn't a small boy, after all. It still stung, though.

Arthur mumbled something in his sleep, something about unicorns and ships, he was so predictable sometimes. Alfred sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain what to do next. Go back to the party or stay here? But he was a proper host whole night, he deserved some rest as well. There's no need to go there and talk with drunk people. He usually hated drunk people, especially when he hadn't drink any alcohol. Only one person he could handle while said person was drunk was Arthur, but it was just natural. He helped him so many times, he gave him piggy-back rides and everything it felt normal. And Arthur was always so open and sometimes even funny, when he was swearing and murmuring and talking about how it's going to be the last time he got so drunk, because oh bloody 'ell he can't see a thing, and why is the world shaking so terribly. And it was a nice thing, to feel his weight on the back, to feel his breath on the neck. Sometimes Arthur would try to kiss him, but the odd look in his eyes, unconscious smile and too blushed cheeks weren't arousing at all. It felt just stupid and wrong to make anything to him in such shape. So Alfred would put a crooked smile on his face and ask Arthur to go to sleep, and Arthur would fall asleep immediately. And then world felt stupidly aimless.

"Oh, fuck it" he said aloud and Arthur opened his eyes.

"Fuck what? and language, Alfred, always language." Arthur warned in his sleepy voice, America rubbed his face.

"Nothin', I'm just tired. Wanted to go to the bed, y'know" Arthur looked puzzled. He frowned a little.

"It's your birthday party, you remember? Extraordinary anniversary, 4th July, we should all die in bloody awe" he snorted, but suddenly held back. He looked at Alfred closely and something changed in his eyes for a moment, Alfred could swear he saw there something really soft and loving, but maybe it was just the light, or maybe he was right and Arthur really loved him again. But England just stared at him and Alfred had this feeling of absolute understanding. Air in room was warmer now, and none of them uttered a word. There were just sounds from the party, breaking glasses, music, talks and laughs and the weird noise of something unspeakable, which was too overwhelming to articulate.

"Yeah, you should" Alfred was the first to break the silence, and he looked at his hands. He felt like words don't mean a thing and every sentence is pointless. He smiled at Arthur and gave him a blanket. "Here, have one. The night's gonna be cold, even if it's July"

"Oh Lord, I can't understand how could you sleep under a blanket, without duvets. It's so primitive"

Arthur fumbled under the blanket and tried to find a comfortable position. Alfred observed him and started to think where he can go to sleep. Arthur seemed pretty quiet for a while, so Alfred stood up to walk out of the room, and then Arthur opened one eye.

"Are you joking, Alfred? I know I'm not really kind, sometimes, on your birthdays, but I can't allow you to sleep on the floor" Alfred wanted to explain he had another bed in the attic, but oh man, if Arthur was sober and he invited him to sleep in one bed, who he was to refuse.

"Whoa, 'twas nice, now. Thanks" Alfred tried really hard not to laugh at Arthur's face. He looked like someone who just rescued twins and a puppy from a fire, true knight and his splendor lightening the night. Kind of adorable, he must admit.

Alfred sat on the edge of the bed, silently. He wanted Arthur to go to sleep, as nothing good would come out of it anyway. He didn't know why he avoided talking to him today. On the one hand, he needed to see him, to see that someone even if broken, still wanted him. From the other hand, he really didn't feel like having any sort of important conversation with England. Little jokes, some mocking, stupid, meaningless talks- yes, that's what he was best at.

But today Arthur was not willing to go to sleep, Instead, he half-sat and stared at America.

"I so do not feel like sleeping today" he said as if he could read Alfred's mind. Alfred swore under the breath, already regretting staying there. For once Arthur seemed like he wanted to talk seriously, and it's been first time for fucking years when America didn't. "I always have problems with sleeping today, not that I care about your sappy birthday, right, it's just a coincidence"

"Well, you surely don't have problems with sleeping on 4th July when you devour half of a whiskey bottle and a beer" Alfred smiles and tries to make this conversation lighter. Arthur just frowns and pouts a little, trying to remember last birthday.

"It wasn't all that bad last year. I remember I flied back early in the morning" Arthur says finally, absolutely proud of his drinking abilities.

"Two days after my party, you forgot to add" yes, Alfred thinks, I'm on a good way to make him irritated. Any other day he'd try to pump and make him confess more between the mocking, because he was awfully avid of Arthur's from time to time confessions of that kind, when he almost spilled what he really had on his mind. Not that he was that hard to read, no. But isn't it always nice to hear such things, not just to think that said person means this or that?

"I want to get out and look at the sky" Arthur blurted out as he started to fumble under the blanket again, trying to find the way out. Finally he stood up, forgot to put on his shoes (what's with him, is he sick or what?) and went out to, well, probably to look at the sky and try out all of his knowledge, at least all from the bits he can recall.

After merely few minutes of resistance he followed England. Oh, what the hell, he can look at the sky for few moments, and it'd be even cool thing to memorize, wouldn't it be? To have peaceful time with England on 4th July. Maybe he could have another anniversary because of that?

Stairs seemed to not share his joy as they squeaked under his steps. Everything felt peaceful, suddenly, until Alfred remembered again things that happened not so many hours ago. But, in the end, I tried my best to fulfill Sarah's last will, didn't I now? Alfred thought bitterly. To sort out things with England.

He noticed him right there on the spot as he went out on the porch. Arthur was sitting on the grass, his head turned to admire deep navy painted in millions and billions of light constellations, each having its own meaning and history and each one heard an innumerable prayers and cries over the centuries. Stars were much like them, if to think more about it.

"Who knew you had such a stunning sky" Arthur muttered, probably hearing him opening the wooden doors. "With all your industry and environment polluting" he added bitterly, because he'd be sick if he told two nice sentences in a row to Alfred. America just laughed quietly.

"You're the one to talk." he took a sit by Arthur, looking at the sky with him. He wanted to tell him he remember how Arthur taught him about the sky, about the stars. That he remembered, because, contrary to what Arthur always says, they hadn't spent much time together when America was young, and he remembered well all of the days Arthur traveled whole way from England to America to teach him things or to just be there, until he started visiting him rarlier for pleasure of simply sitting together and watching stars or birds and more often because of business, or maybe it was only that Alfred was older later and he noticed more things. But before the Revolution, even if Arthur had come only to announce new taxes or to scold him about something, Alfred knew it wasn't only that. Over years watching all of Arthur's reactions and habits and ways of behaving in different situations, he came to perfection in recognizing what Arthur really thought.

"Right." Arthur said blankly, not bothering to look at Alfred. They sat in the silence for few moments, when England slightly noticeable started to hum something. Alfred knew the song, but he couldn't quite place it in his, rather good, memory. "So do you plan on telling me what the bloody hell is wrong today, or not?" he spurted abruptly. Whoa, England really wasn't like himself today. Normally he would round and round about the subject, and in the end it was always Alfred who, well, as by accident, would answer the unasked question. Even if Arthur acted all weirdly today, Alfred was still blunt.

"Sarah died."

England looked at him in shock.

"Oh, I didn't know. Alfred, I'm really sorry." there was a strange fondness in his voice again and Alfred thought that he's going insane. Anyway, he didn't feel better.

"No, you're not. You didn't know her, anyway, you said it's a stupid thing to fall for a human and I think you're happy because of what happened." he had no idea why he hurt him with those harsh words, especially after what Arthur's said. But it was true, Arthur really said it was foolish.

"Of course it's a stupid thing, you idiot. You only hurt yourself and them, so what's good of it, right? Everyone knows that, and yet everyone falls for a human once in a while. It's just like with ordinary people, isn't it? They know they shouldn't love this or that person and they do anyway, of course it's wrong, but they just can't help it, and they sometimes fall in love with someone even if... What are you looking at, have you lost the rest of your little reserves of what should be fully functioning brain-ce..."

Alfred kissed him with all the fierce he had and had been keeping deep inside, accumulating, accumulating, storing it for last few years of walking around each other, not leaving, not touching, not hating and not openly loving, everything just not to do anything that could define any feelings. So he kissed him and it felt like best thing since sliced bread, not caring for small close-mouthed kisses, going from the start all open-mouthed and wet and wanting. Arthur was too surprised to do a thing, and even if he was more conscious he wouldn't react any different, he wanted it to be all messy and wanting as much as it could be. Even if he wasn't startled he would anyway place his hands on Alfred's neck, now hotter and redder, same as their cheeks;

and kiss lasted for more than few surprised seconds, it lasted for minutes so they would only suck in small, quick breathes, not to suffocate, but not to waste a minute, because they had all the time in the world and it was scary, it was scary to have such a power over the time, to last for so long, every moment was even more meaningless as for humans, so they kissed as if they had few minutes before dying, they kissed because as long as they do, everything made sense, and as soon as they broke everything will fall into pieces, strange and stupid and empty again;

and Alfred's palm is under the sweater, traveling and wandering as greedy as his mouth on Arthur's jaw, devouring and tasting his lips, and Arthur pants and breaths in huffs in Alfred's neck and licks and kisses back, and world above is all deep and just pure brilliance;

and they roll on the grass and now Arthur is sitting on Alfred's lap, and his eyes say something that Alfred can't read because he hadn't seen this emotion before, not that intense, but he doesn't care, not now, not today, today nothing makes sense anyway; Arthur kisses his face with all the care and love he could find, he takes Alfred's hand and sucks on the fingers and if Alfred had any thoughts, any coherent or incoherent thoughts now he doesn't know it and there's only blind need and greed for everything he can feel and this is just the right thing and this moment is just embodiment of celestial and all facades they've been busy building up are now falling apart and;

and Arthur with hungry eyes is taking his sweater off so there's nothing left to do but to kiss sensitive neck and lick collar-bone and touch his back just to hear him saying in a broken way, words unable to come out properly because how could they when world is at peace and war in the same time, "Oh, dear Lord, Alfred" over and over again, sometimes replacing "Dear Lord" with "Oh, fuck";

and Arthur entangles his fingers with Alfred's hair, because it feels like the right thing to do, and nothing matters, just to pull his hair a little while whispering stupid words dictated by need, and they're all legs and arms and hot breaths and Arthur is so happy he's sober and maybe he will remember things, even if his mind is cloudier and cloudier and he can't do a thing to stop it;

suddenly clothes feels like the archenemies and Alfred wants to rip them apart right now, because they have minutes left and he needs everything as soon and as long as he can; so he pulls absolutely pungently Arthur's trousers and tries to take off brown shirt(what does he have so many levels of clothes, good he doesn't wear a fucking bra because it would end up certainly ripped and ruined, there was no time for stupid and useless things like taking things off in a gentle way) while Arthur fights with Alfred's belt, and every touch is more like fire than pleasure now, and if something won't hap-

"Oh, mon Dieu"

Arthur almost shrieks at this sudden abrupt and Alfred feels like he's gonna kill France right now, so they could fucking copulate on his corpse, and he knows that Arthur won't mind, right, because he-

"Y-You stupid.. I... I..." Alfred sees how everything pops up, and his urgent need for killing Francis just grows stronger, and Francis just smiles in a stupid way and Alfred really wants to punch him in that smiling face, but now Arthur is standing up and taking his clothes and he escapes from France's smile and Alfred's anger and his own shame, and stupid sudden emptiness of the world around, even the bloody stars are laughing at him and his idiotic needs and sappy pipe dreams.

Alfred sits on a cold, green grass and knows that inside something really bad is growing, so he doesn't look at Francis, he just tightens his belt and tries really hard to just stand up and walk away, but Francis stops him and now Alfred sees he's fucking drunk.

"God, get back to to sleep before you go and kill yourself" he mutters because he knows France won't remember that, he gets drunk rarely and he doesn't remember a thing, because he does it without a bonds of decency.

"I watched you from the start, just wanted to cock-block you in the right moment" France smiles lazely and his eyes wander around, not looking at Alfred "Just like you do every time I'm with Arthur in a pub"

"Yeah, because you pour liquors in him like a mad man and you just want to use him when he's drunk and would fuck with a fucking horse if one asked him to make out!" Alfred really had his time today and he has no patience, so he really had to restrain himself not to scream in France's face. Francis just smiled, again, now angry and sad.

"Bien sur, it's me. Just wanting to fuck our 'oney senselessly, not caring about 'im in a bit. 'ow nice you know me so well, I'm flattered"

Alfred just passed by him, not answering, he needed to walk away, to breathe again, to calm down. One second more here, one more word with French accent and he will fucking beat him, not caring about world's peace.

He storms into the mansion and he knows he has to find Arthur or things are going to be even more complicated and God, more fucked up than they were before. And that's hard to achieve.

He feels anger and want melting inside, growing stronger and needing an outlet, and everything feels warmer and colder in the same time, and if anyone is to interrupt him again he won't restrain himself anymore, he will just fucking start the World War III because no one can live like he does, and he wants something for himself once in his life and he will have it; he's angry with himself, with Sarah, with Arthur and with Francis, he's angry with his birthday and with the whole world, with all the people sleeping on his sofas and on the floor, he fells any minute and he will just go and nuke something even if it's so unethical and-

and Arthur is sobbing, sitting by the closed door of the attic, and those two things accumulate, it's just too much for today, it's too much pressure and that's fucking it;

before he realizes what on Earth is he doing he's grabbing Arthur by the collar of his messed shirt and he pulls him up and they're on the wall all of a sudden and Arthur sobs in the kiss but it doesn't matter again and he curses and talks nonsense but Alfred doesn't listen - he knows Arthur feels the same way right now, and yes, exactly, he's silent now, just breaths and huffs, and fuck it all, just take off the fuckin' trousers and shut up, one more word and I'm going mad and oh holy fuck, do it again; and Arthur arches under his touch, and Alfred let's himself rock into him and oh, that's the best, those messy incoherent movements, but there are clothes on them and it's in the way, so now, quickly get rid of them, no time for folding, just kick them out of the way and oh God, fucking Christ where is the door to the room, stupid condoms, oh here they are, and Arthur biting on Alfred's lips in a rapid hurry, just open it, open; and everything gets messier and hotter and so fucking good;

senseless motions and dense air and hands everywhere and Alfred is pretty sure they're everywhere, every dustiest corner of his room would remind him later of it, squeak, squeak of the bed and dull sounds of a table and for fuck's sake, it's gonna break, good Lord, don't you dare stop now, thump on a wall and Arthur fears everyone would hear them but it so doesn't matter, as, oh fuck do that again, Alfred body is everywhere and there's nothing more important, just unsteady pace, unsteady legs, and he feels like he's going to fall apart but he can't, not yet, good God, once again like that, and bed again and it feels like a dream from time to time but it's too great, and so overwhelming it hurts and that's just the right feeling;

Alfred feels tickling of sweat on his back, and his hair is now plastered to his forehead but so is Arthur's, and he sees his flushed cheeks and half-open mouth, now swollen from kissing and sucking and Alfred feels like kissing and sucking his lips even more; in the back of his head he hears some vase cracking on the floor and he just tries not to stand on it when they roll on the carpet, and when they clumsily climb on the bed again, and then, just a moment and everything goes silent and white for a while and there's only mess in the room, broken vase and sticky stomachs, and there's warm body on a warm body, searching for an air and inhaling deeply as if taking the first breath; last, warily placed kisses, but mostly breathing, and coming to senses, and oh my God what a mess, everyone must be awakened by now and they know and the vase is broken and it seems like something valuable, oh, I need to shower right now, I know why I always drink on your birthdays now, and Arthur is all words and words and words and Alfred has to hold him in one place.

"Don't move, not now, it's not gone yet, the moment, you know it's not, just don't talk" he strokes his back and Arthur seems to ease a little. Even if the idea of shower is still promising and tempting, he stays, fighting shame and awkwardness as the feelings try to take over him.

When he falls asleep, he thinks of getting up early so he could leave as soon as possible, because he's used to doing so after staying over at pub friends now or then. He gets up early, no words, just dresses up quietly and leaving. But it's not the same situation, it's not the stranger.

Everything got so complicated and his tired brain just can't take any of this anymore so he snores a little after a while, and Alfred follows him into the merciful and peaceful dreams, too.

And when next day Alfred wakes up to an empty bed he fears that's the beginning of something terrible, something horrible that'll destroy everything he cared about, his bond with Arthur, and world won't ever feel the same, and he couldn't fulfill Sarah's will.

But then he looks at the floor, and the vase is gone, and there's mug of coffee and a sandwich, and a little note scribed in familiar style of hand-writing.

And, just for once, world doesn't seem to be so stupid and wrong, after all.


End file.
